


All This and Heaven Too

by mothmage



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Also Mandy - Freeform, Bipolar Disorder, Boyfriends Being Cute, Future Fic, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempts, but it's pretty under control, but only a few phonecalls, but so brief you'll miss it if you blink, canon typical homophobia, canon typical language, gallavich family, kind of ooc maybe, mickey works in an office
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:14:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmage/pseuds/mothmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been four years since what they’ve come to call “The Incident” and Mickey and Ian couldn’t be happier. Well, they could. But they’re a hell of a lot better off now than they were four years ago.</p><p>Four years ago, Ian went off his meds. Svetlana ran off with Nika. Mandy got knocked up; to this very day, Lip denies that it was his. And Mickey? Mickey was just along for the ride.<br/>It wasn’t too bad until he came home one day to find Ian passed out on the floor, an empty bottle of pills inches from his limp fingers. </p><p>Now, four – almost five – years since The Incident, they’ve got a shitty apartment just inside of NYC. Ian still works at a club, though he’s not a dancer anymore, just a bartender. Yev goes to school in the city and he’s only been suspended once in the past year, which has got to be a new sort of Milkovich record. And Mickey, Mickey’s got a shitty fucking office job that he hates because it cuts out a lot of the time he used to be able to spend with his little family. But the pay’s good, so there’s that.</p><p>future!fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello there! the title comes from the song by Florence + the Machine, in case you were wondering.  
> anyway, this was just an idea I had rattling around in my head and, be warned, it's not beta'd or anything. read at your own risk.

Four years.

It’s been four years since what they’ve come to call “The Incident” and Mickey and Ian couldn’t be happier. Well, they could. But they’re a hell of a lot better off now than they were four years ago.

Four years ago, Ian went off his meds. Svetlana ran off with Nika. Mandy got knocked up; to this very day, Lip denies that it was his. And Mickey? Mickey was just along for the ride.

It wasn’t too bad until he came home one day to find Ian passed out on the floor, an empty bottle of pills inches from his limp fingers. He’d like to say that the rest of that day was a blur, a haze too painful to remember.

But that would be a lie.

Mickey remembers every second of it, from the moment he came home, Yev asleep in his arms. He remembers how Ian’s body convulsed in the ambulance and he remembers how the doctors made him sit in the waiting room for hours, knuckles white and lips bitten raw. Ian went into a clinic without argument after that.

It took two years.

Two years to figure out his meds, get into a healthy routine. It wasn’t easy and it sure as hell wasn’t painless, but four years later and that routine was still keeping Ian sane and Mickey at ease. It was probably good for Yev, too, growing up with some sense of structure during his formative years. After Mickey came out and Svetlana skipped town, everyone had pretty well accepted that a Milkovich was gay and in some sort of relationship with Ian Gallagher, and if anyone had a problem with that, Mickey would fuck them up pretty bad.

After a while, though, they got restless. Chicago South Side was still Chicago South Side and it held some pretty bad memories for both Ian and Mickey. So, they checked with Ian’s doctor and packed up all their shit in cardboard boxes and a week later, Mickey, Ian, and Yev were sitting on a plane headed for New York. Call them fucking cliché, who cares.

That was almost a year ago. Now, four – almost five – years since The Incident, they’ve got a shitty apartment just inside of NYC. Ian still works at a bar, though he’s not a dancer anymore, just a bartender. Yev goes to school in the city and he’s only been suspended once in the past year, which has got to be a new sort of Milkovich record. And Mickey, Mickey’s got a shitty fucking office job that he hates because it cuts out a lot of the time he used to be able to spend with his little family. But the pay’s good, so there’s that.

He rolls over and pulls his pillow over his head, his free hand slapping around on the nightstand to turn off the alarm. He feels someone stretch over him, warmth seeping into his back. The alarm goes off and there’s blessed quiet for a few minutes. They just lay there, Ian’s arms wrapped around Mickey and his face pressed to his neck. He pushes the pillow away and steals a kiss, smirking as Mickey moans sleepily and snuggles closer to Ian’s chest.

“Daddy!”

Mickey sighs, because it’s really never quiet long enough to enjoy. He tries to get up, he really does, but for some reason his bones don’t want to move just now at the fucking ass crack of dawn when it’s colder than fucking Elsa’s palace in their apartment. And yes, he watched the fucking movie, _Jesus_.

Ian pulls away with one last kiss, leaving Mickey audibly mourning the loss of heat. “Good morning, sunshine,” he says mockingly, laughing when Mickey just flips him off from under the thick stack of blankets on their bed. He walks out to the kitchen because he knows Mickey will get up in his own time and no sooner. “Morning, Yev,” he mumbles through a barely concealed yawn.

Yev huffs indignantly at him. He holds up a shoe, his free hand on his hip. “Look at this.”

Ian nods. “Okay. What exactly am I looking at?”

With a dramatic sigh, Yev points to the laces. “They’re _blue_ _laces_.”

Ian blinks. “I’m glad you know your colors, Yev,” he says with a little laugh, turning to start the coffee machine. He’s just filling up the water when there’s a loud thump and he looks up to see that Yev has dropped his sneaker onto the kitchen floor and is currently sprawled across the table with a hand across his face.

“Ian,” he says, very seriously. Ian tries to hold back a smile because he knows that Yev only calls him that when he wants to be treated like an adult. “I can’t tie _laces_. How am I supposed to put my shoes on every day if I can’t tie my own laces?”

“I’ll teach you how to tie your damn shoes, Jesus Christ,” Mickey grumbles, walking in wearing a blanket around his shoulders.

Yev sits up, his whole demeanor changed. “You will?”

“Yeah, after I get some fucking coffee,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Hurry the fuck up, would you?”

Ian pours the water into the coffee machine. “Just for that, you’re not getting any.”

Mickey saunters over, swinging his hips. He grabs Ian around the waist and pulls them together. “Any what?” he asks with a suggestive eyebrow-raise.

Yev wrinkles his nose and hops off the table. With a quick, “Don’t be gross,” he leaves them alone, heading back to his bedroom.

Once he’s gone, Ian leans down to rub their noses together, loving the flush that spreads over Mickey’s cheeks.

He scoffs. “Don’t be fucking gay.” But Ian can feel him lean in closer and press a kiss to his jaw.

He sighs. “I hate to break it to you, Mick, but you’re gay. Now that I think about it, so am I! Gee, must be spreading or something. Who knows who’ll catch it next, could be anyone!”

Mickey smiles and leans against Ian’s chest, flipping him off with his right hand. “Fuck you,” he mumbles into the fabric of Ian’s shirt. Wait. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Ian laughs. “You’re wearing mine,” he points out and, sure enough, when Mickey looks down, his shirt has ROTC or some shit written on the front.

“Oh,” he says, “Okay.”

Ian turns around in his arms, carefully pouring the coffee into the two mugs he’d laid out earlier. He holds one out to Mickey, who reluctantly releases him to accept the mug.

“Ay,” he says, “You take your meds yet?”

Ian puts down his coffee and opens the cabinet, pulling out the little white bottle of Eskalith and popping one of the pills in his mouth, washing it down with coffee.

“You’re supposed to eat before you take that,” Mickey says.

Ian shrugs. “After works fine too.”

Mickey puts down his coffee after one last sip and goes to the fridge, pulling out the carton of eggs. “Can you get me a – ” he turns around and Ian’s already holding out a pan in one hand and a bowl in the other. “Thanks.” Mickey cracks a few eggs in the bowl and whisks them together, throwing a splash of milk in for good measure. He puts the pan on the stove and leans against Ian’s chest while he waits for it to heat up.

He grabs his coffee and takes another sip, savoring the warmth down his throat. He nearly spits it out when Ian starts behind him. “Shit! Here, I’ll make the eggs, Mick. You’ve got like, ten minutes until you need to leave.”

“Fuck,” he says, downing the rest of his coffee in one gulp and heading back to their bedroom to get dressed. He throws on black pants and a red button-down, hopping around as he puts his socks on. He quickly runs a hand through his hair, no time to gel it back like he normally would. Jamming his feet into his shoes as he walks, he goes back into the kitchen where Ian is already putting his egg on a plate and handing it to him along with a fork.

“Careful, it’s…hot,” he finishes, only after Mickey’s shoveled nearly the whole thing in his mouth.

“Ah, fuck,” he says through a mouthful of egg. “It’s okay. Good egg.”

Ian smiles, taking a much smaller bite of his own egg. Mickey manages to swallow his food and pulls Ian in for a lingering kiss, his hands working their way into his red hair. He pulls back and glances at the clock. “ _Shit_. I gotta go. Love you. Bye, Yev!” he calls down the hall as he leaves, grabbing his coat and gloves from the hook beside the door on the way out.

He winces as the door slams behind him, but doesn’t have time to do anything else but walk as fast as he can through the hall and down the stairs without running. He shoves through the people on the sidewalk like a proper New Yorker and gets down to the subway as fast as he can, mentally cursing all of the people blocking his way and making him even more late.

Once on the subway, he has to feel around in his pockets for a stick of gum that’s probably been in his pockets since the last time he washed these pants, but it’ll have to do. His breath smells like egg. He looks down and realizes his shirt is buttoned wrong, so he has to redo them all and tuck the front into his pants again, swearing when he realizes he forgot a belt. Today is just not his fucking day.

He looks up at the unidentifiable stain on the ceiling of the subway car and he takes a deep breath. He tries to remember what Ian’s doctor said about how important breathing is to people’s emotions. The air smells like cheap food and body odor and Mickey really doesn’t want to spend a lot of time breathing it in. He does anyway, closing his eyes and holding onto the railing for balance. When he opens his eyes again, he feels a bit calmer than before.

The subway glides to a stop and he’s the first one out the doors and weaving through the morning commuters to get up the stairs. The office building he works at is like, a block and a half away and he’s got about four minutes to get there. That’s doable.

Apparently it’s not though, as he finds out when he walks into the office and all eyes turn to him. Jesus Christ. They’re in the middle of a meeting or some shit. He walks in as quietly as he can, though everyone already knows he’s late so it’s not worth much. “Sorry,” he mumbles to his boss, who’s staring at him with narrowed eyes. “There was a, um…elevator thing.”

Bruce Bankston, his boss, just rolls his eyes and continues talking. “As I was saying, our sales have risen 24% in the past six months, and with the new bundle coming out, I’m sure you all will make them go up even higher.”

Mickey must’ve missed more than he thought, because that was it. A cheesy fake smile and then Bankston is leaving, headed back to his office.

One of Mickey’s coworkers, a bitch called Sarah, smirks at him. “He’ll have your ass for being late again, Milkovich,” she says.

He walks to his desk, shrugging his jacket off on the way. “I think he’d rather have yours. Oh wait, he already has, right?” he asks with a little laugh. Sarah flushes and turns away from him. She’s hated him ever since he walked in on her blowing Bankston under his desk. It’s not like Mickey had _wanted_ to see that, but the way she immediately turned on him, you’d think he’d done it on purpose just to fuckin spite her or something.

He just rolls his eyes and sits down in his little cubicle, throwing his jacket over the back of his chair. He leans back as the computer turns on, wishing he had some coffee. The computer lights up and he leans forward to type in the password, scowling as he looks at his hands. Bankston makes his wear these stupid fingerless gloves to cover his tats and fuck if they don’t itch a little bit.

He sets to work emailing all of the customers who have emailed the insurance company too many times to get the damn automated messages anymore. He sneaks a look at the clock in the corner of his monitor. Three and a half hours till lunch break. Fuck.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a quick glance around to make sure the break room is empty, Mickey gives up on texting and just calls Ian. Because it’s fucking easier, not cause he wanted to hear his voice or some shit.  
> ..........................................  
> Ian smiles. And then he stops, because Mr. Lerch is taking Yev by the hand and bringing him over to Ian and he most certainly does not look happy.  
> “Mr. Milkovich,” the teacher begins in an uptight sort of voice.  
> “It’s Gallagher, actually,” Ian says, looking at Yev, who won’t meet his eyes.  
> Mr. Lerch continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “Yevgeny has been behaving in a manner that’s entirely inappropriate for his age. Language, attitude, and bullying are only a few of the – ”  
> Ian cuts him off. “Bullying?”  
> “No, no, I didn’t do a thing, okay?” Yev starts, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Jake was pullin’ on Penny’s hair, so I socked him one.”  
> Ian sighs and buries his face in his hands to hide his grin. "Thanks, Mr. Lerch. I'll handle this."

As soon as the clock hits 11:15, Mickey is up from his desk and walking towards the break room, digging in his pockets for a few wadded up dollar bills to get a bag of chips or something from the vending machine.

_forgot a lunch, too_ he texts to Ian.

_I think you'll live_ is the reply.

 He snorts and shoves his money into the machine, grabbing the chips from the tray at the bottom. His fingers type before he really realizes what he’s doing but he says fuck it and presses send anyway. _I miss you._

_you saw me like three hours ago XD_ Ian sends him. _I miss you too_. Immediately after.

_I didnt have time to teach yev to tie his shoes_ , he sends, munching on his chips. They really taste awful, too.

_:( he wanted you to teach him so I just tied them for him._

Mickey tries to reply, but there’s chip crumbs and grease all over his fingertips and the fucking touch screen doesn’t seem to work when your hands are covered in food and shit. He wipes his hand off on his sleeve, wincing a little as it leaves a smear mark. With a quick glance around to make sure the break room is empty, he gives up on texting and just calls Ian. Because it’s fucking easier, not cause he wanted to hear his voice or some shit.

“ _Texting just too hard on your poor, tired fingers?”_ Ian asks when he picks up.

Mickey rolls his eyes even though Ian can’t see. “Shut the fuck up. I’m trying to eat.”

“ _So you got a lunch, then?”_

“Bag of chips that taste like ass,” he grumbles.

Ian laughs and it sounds all static-y through the phone. “ _Maybe if you woke up earlier you wouldn’t be too late to pack a lunch._ ”

He snorts. “Maybe if you didn’t keep me up all night, I’d be able to wake up earlier,” he says, his eyes darting around to make sure no one heard. It’s still mostly empty, but there’s a few people sitting at the table across from his. Sure, he’s not in the closet anymore, but he’s not exactly _open_ about it, either. None of these fuckheads need to know what he does at night.

“ _Shouldn’t_ I _be saying that to_ you _?”_ Ian asks. “ _I’m the one with the doctor-ordered schedule that we never seem to keep.”_

Mickey smiles. And then he stops because he’s all out of chips and _fuck_ that was not lunch. A few of his coworkers walk into the break room carrying lunches from the café downstairs. He stares at their food wistfully and starts to dig around for some more money because that shit downstairs is expensive.

“ _We should go out tonight. I can ask Chris to cut my shift short; he owes me anyway,”_ Ian suggests.

Mickey actually thinks going out sounds nice but of course, he has a reputation to uphold. “Oh what and you wanna get spaghetti so we can do that thing like the dogs in that movie?” His voice is mocking, but he’s really only half joking. Spaghetti does sound pretty good.

Ian laughs. “ _Maybe. We can get them to put a candle on the table and play violins in the background and everything_.”

“Man, why you gotta be so gay all the time, huh?” he asks, holding his phone between his shoulder and his chin so he can open his wallet.

“ _You love me anyways,_ ” Ian says and goddamnit, the kid’s right.

“Yeah,” Mickey says, his hands stilling for a moment, “I do.”

_“I’ve gotta go,”_ Ian tells him, “ _That old lady from downstairs is knocking on the door again. Probably wants to me to watch her goddamn cats again or something. We’re not even allowed to have cats in the building, for fuck’s sake.”_

Mickey laughs. “Tell her to go screw herself and her cats.”

“ _Haha very funny. You come deal with her and tell me that again. Ok, love you. Bye.”_

“Bye.” A beep signals to Mickey that Ian’s hung up and he sighs, putting down the phone. Checking once more in his pockets and making sure everything’s out of his wallet, Mickey counts it up. Once he takes out the money he needs to get home and the ten bucks Yev needed for some school project, Mickey has $2.58. Not really enough to buy anything from the fancy-ass café down there. Eh. He can live off of chips for a few hours.

He shoves all the money back into his wallet and shoves his wallet and his phone back into his pocket.

“Did you forget your lunch?” Someone asks and he looks over to see this guy looking pretty sympathetic.

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, I was running late this morning.”

The guy pulls out an apple and offers it to him.

Surprised, Mickey blinks and just looks at it for a moment. “Thanks, man,” he finally says, taking the apple. “What’s your name?”

“Sam,” the guy says with a nod. “And you’re Mickey, right? My sister’s always talking about you,” he says, gesturing towards where Sarah is eating with some other chick. “Says you’re a real pain in the ass and ought to be fired.”

Mickey snorts. “Ouch.”

Sam shrugs. “Thought I’d come over and see for myself. So far, you don’t seem too bad.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Too bad? Huh, thanks.”

Sam smirks. “So, Mickey, got any hobbies?”

“Seriously?” he asks incredulously. He didn’t have Sam pegged for the small talk kind of guy.

“Alright, fine. What’s with the gloves, then?” he asks, looking at Mickey’s hands.

“I’ve got some ink the boss don’t like. Too unprofessional or some shit.”

“Ink? Can I see?” Sam asks with a raised eyebrow.

Mickey shrugs and takes off the gloves, showing Sam his knuckles. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Sam cracks a smile and Mickey leaves lunch break thinking that maybe he’s finally making some friends here. And if that doesn’t sound faggy as shit, he doesn’t know what does.

 

He’s just sitting there, typing his goddamn emails like a good employee, when he hears them. The bitches at the cubicle behind him are fucking gossiping about him in the loudest whispering he’s ever heard in his life. He rolls his eyes and swings around in his chair. “You got a fucking problem?” he asks them, eyebrows raised.

And why is he not even a little bit surprised that it’s Sarah and that bitch she was chatting up at lunch. Sarah, who’s perched on the edge of the other one’s desk, jumps up almost guiltily and looks away.

“Why you hate me so much, huh?” he questions, honestly wanting the answer.

“Oh, like you don’t hate everyone else here?” she sneers, disgust plain on her face.

He snorts. “I don’t even _know_ anyone else here, for fuck’s sake. We can go on hating each other or you can grow the fuck up and just pretend I don’t exist like everyone else does. That’d be better for both of us,” he assures her, swiveling his chair back around to his computer.

He’s halfway through responding to a query about their car insurance when she speaks again.

“I don’t hate you.” She’s closer now, standing just inside his cubicle instead of in the one behind him.

“Like hell you don’t.”

“No,” she says, “Really. I mean, I don’t exactly _like_ you, but I don’t hate you either. You’re kind of an ass, though.”

Mickey sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Look, I’m sorry I’m an ass, alright? Get the fuck out of my office.”

Sarah barks a laugh. “Nice talking to you, Milkovich,” she says on the way out.

He leans back in his chair and watches her walk to her own cubicle a few yards away. Then he pulls out his phone to text Ian, even though he’s probably still in fucking class right now. Little fucker decided to sign himself up for classes to be a goddamn guidance counselor. Some shit about leading the youth of today down the right path or something.

_you will never believe what just happened,_ Mickey texts him under the desk.

It’s a few minutes before there’s any reply. _What?_

_I think sarah and I just had a fucking conversation_. Ian knows exactly who Sarah is, having heard Mickey bitch about the entire office every other night.

_Really??_ Ian types back, _what happened to her hating your guts?_

Mickey smirks down at the phone, typing out an _idk man_ and hitting send. Then, _just wanted to tell u. get back to learning and shit._

_XOXO kisses!_

_don’t be so fucking gay._

He puts his phone on his desk, fighting a smile. 

* * *

Across the city, Ian is doing the same thing in the back of a stuffy old classroom.

There’s a loud cough and he looks up to see the teacher glaring at him. He guiltily slips his phone back into his pocket with an apologetic little smile. The instructor, a middle aged woman with more than a few spare tires, goes by the name Eleanor Jensen, but no one really thinks it’s her real name. Eleanor turns back to the cracked white board she’s writing on and Ian sighs, trying to write down key points.

The class was only $20 dollars and probably completely inaccurate, but Ian figured that it couldn’t be too hard to tell teenagers not to do what he did. He’s just taking the class to make it official enough to get a job.

He glances not-so-subtly at the clock. Ten minutes left. Eleanor really is a god awful teacher and Ian could say with full confidence that a good portion of the class dozes off during her lectures.

Speaking of dozing off, Ian feels someone lean onto his arm and looks over, shaking them off. It was this one guy, Ben, who sits next to him. The classroom was small and crowded enough that if someone fell asleep, there was a good chance they’d land on someone else if they fell out of their chair. But Ben had done this three times already and he still won’t even say hello to Ian once he woke up. Shithead.

He elbows Ben in the ribs to wake him up once Eleanor finishes up her lecture and everyone starts packing their shit up. Ben jerks awake with a little slurp sound and Ian wrinkles his nose, hoping he hadn’t drooled on his shirt. It was Mickey’s.

“Thanks, man,” Ben mumbles, fluffing his hair.

Ian smiles in what he hopes is a pleasant way. “Yeah, anytime.” Jesus Christ, maybe Mickey was right when he said Ian was too nice for his own good.

He leaves the dingy little building, squinting in the unexpected sunlight, and sets out for the elementary school four blocks over. Yev gets out in twenty minutes, but Ian can wait for a while if he needs to.

He picks up a hot dog and a bottle of water from one of the street vendors and sits down on a bench outside the school to wait. Apparently, Ian isn’t the only one who came early today, because a quiet voice asks, “Can I sit here?” and he looks up to see a girl holding a baby.

He nods and scoots over a bit to make room. “You waiting on someone?” he asks, gesturing towards the school with his half eaten hot dog. Which, in retrospect, is kind of gross.

The girl nods. She can’t possibly be older than him. “My daughter. We just moved and today was her first day, so she wanted me to be here to pick her up.”

Finishing the last bite of his hot dog, Ian crumples up the foil and tosses it in the trash can a few feet away. He subtly checks to make sure his hands are clean before he offers one to her. “I’m Ian.”

She smiles gratefully and takes his hand. “Katie. And this is Alex,” she adds, bouncing the baby a little bit.

Ian smiles and waves his fingers at the baby. “Hello, Alex! So you guys just moved here, huh? Where from?”

“Florida,” she tells him, making his eyes widen.

“Florida? That’s a big change. Can I ask why or…?”

Alex coos a little and Katie moves so he’s sitting on her knee, looking at the cars as they go by. “Just wanted a change,” she says, looking around. “Certainly got one.”

He hears high pitched voices start to bounce off the walls and turns his head, seeing that the kids are coming out through the doors. He looks back at Katie. “What grade is your daughter in? They kind of have a system,” he explains.

She stands, readjusting her grip on the baby. “Umm, she’s in kindergarten. Mrs. Bell’s class.”

Ian smiles and stands up. “My, uh…son’s in Mr. Lerch’s class. They come out together after the first graders. You want to walk together?”

She nods shyly. “Thank you.”

He waves off her gratitude. “Thank _you_ , actually. I’ve been sitting alone on that bench for months now. Nice to see a new face.”

They stand under the brick archway together and watch the kids walk out, fifth graders first, then fourth graders, and so on. After the last of the first graders have gone, the kindergarten classes come out, all holding hands in a line so they don’t run into the street or anything.

As soon as they stop, a little girl breaks from the line and runs forward, her two braids bouncing against her backpack. She crashes into Katie’s legs and stays there, like she’s hiding. Ian smiles. And then he stops, because Mr. Lerch is taking Yev by the hand and bringing him over to Ian and he most certainly does not look happy.

“Mr. Milkovich,” the teacher begins in an uptight sort of voice.

“It’s Gallagher, actually,” Ian says, looking at Yev, who won’t meet his eyes.

Mr. Lerch continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “Yevgeny has been behaving in a manner that’s entirely inappropriate for his age. Language, attitude, and bullying are only a few of the – ”

Ian cuts him off. “Bullying?”

“No, no, I didn’t do a thing, okay?” Yev starts, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Jake was pullin’ on Penny’s hair, so I socked him one.”

Ian sighs and buries his face in his hands to hide his grin. “Thank you, Mr. Lerch. I’ll handle this.”

With one last huff of disapproval, the teacher turns and walks back to his class.

“It sounds like you were really brave,” a little voice mumbles from behind Katie’s legs. “Like a superhero.”

Yev puffs out his chest and smirks at her. “Yeah. Guess I was.”

Katie pulls the little girl forward and introduces her as Riley. Yev nods and plants a kiss on the back of her hand, introducing himself as “Yev Milkovich, enchanted to meet you.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Where’d you pick that one up?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Yev shrugs. “Daddy was watching Titanic.”

“Seriously?” he laughs. “Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Katie, Alex, and Riley. Say goodbye, Yev.”

Riley waves and Katie smiles at Ian. “Thank you.”

Ian waves goodbye to them and picks Yev up, swinging him onto his back because he know the kid loves it. “Are we gonna talk about what you did?”

Yev thinks for a minute. “Nope. Can I get ice cream?”

“I’m calling your dad,” Ian tells him, already pulling out his phone. “Mickey?” he says once it’s stopped ringing.

“ _Yeah? What?”_

“Just calling to let you know your son got into trouble at school today. Punched a kid,” Ian tells him. He can practically hear Mickey’s smile.

* * *

 

Mickey leans back in his chair at that. “Oh yeah? What for?”

And suddenly there’s a new, squeaky little voice on the phone. “ _Oh, Daddy, it was awesome. So, Jake was pulling Penny’s hair, right? So I tells him to stop but he doesn’t. So I socked him one._ ” He sounds so proud of himself. Mickey would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little proud too.

“Nice one, Yev.” Then he thinks of Ian. “But, uh, you shouldn’t hit people. Not unless they _really_ deserve it.”

“ _Oh, trust me, Daddy, he_ _did_.” There’s a little bit of rustling and then Ian’s voice is back on. “ _Mhm. So I heard you watched Titanic. And without me? I think we’ll have to fix that. Proper movie night with popcorn and cuddling and all.”_

Mickey groans. “Oh don’t do this, Ian. A guy has limits. Don’t make me do that faggy shit.” A dude across the aisle is staring at him and Mickey covers the mouthpiece. “Family crisis,” he says and then turns his chair around so he’s not facing the guy anymore.

He hears Ian laughing through the phone. “ _Oh, by the way, I’ve got to go to the bar at like 5 tonight. You’ll be home to watch Yev, right?_ ” Mickey hears Yev in the background, moaning that he doesn’t need to be watched because he’s too grown up for that shit.

“Yeah I will. Uhh, I gotta go, though. I’m kind of at work right now.”

“ _Oh, sorry_ ,” Ian says, “ _I’ll see you later then. Bye_.”

Mickey looks around briefly. “Love you.” And then he hangs up because no way is he dealing with however Gallagher is going to respond to that.

And no he’s not smiling to himself right now, fuck you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how am I doing on keeping in-character? too soft? not enough? 
> 
> h e l p


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And in the restaurant, they do the thing with the spaghetti like in Lady and the Tramp, though Mickey bitches about it afterward, cheeks flaming. And they have a candle on the table. No violins, but the owner of the restaurant has this shitty radio playing Italian opera so it’s close.
> 
> And Ian knows it’s been too many years for him to even keep track (it’s been 7 years and 10 months, but who’s counting) and it’s probably impossible, but he falls a little bit more in love with Mickey Milkovich every day.

Mickey’s at home when his phone rings. Yev’s at the kitchen table, carefully writing his letters out like his teacher told him too and Mickey’s leaning up against the counter, smoking a cigarette and trying to blow the smoke out the window instead of into his son’s face. It doesn’t really work.

He answers the phone “Yeah?” without looking at the caller ID and groans when the other person speaks.

“ _Hi, Mickey, it’s Sam_ ,” the voice on the other line says and Mickey frowns, stubbing out his cigarette and throwing it in the sink.

“How the hell did you get this number?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Sam laughs. “ _We work at the same company, man, there’s a directory.”_

Mickey rolls his eyes. “So why the fuck you callin me?”

There’s a pause, like Sam’s thinking about what to say. “ _My girlfriend and I are going out later with her brother. Was wondering if you’d like to join? Make a few new friends? You might not completely hate it, you know_ ,” he adds, like he knows exactly what Mickey is thinking.

And to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t sound half bad to Mickey. But his evening’s already full. “Sorry, man, I got a date. Sounds, uh, sounds cool, though.” He makes a face. That was a fucking stupid way to say it.

“ _Oh?_ ” Sam asks, his voice teasing, “ _Anyone special?_ ”

Yev waves the paper around and Mickey pushes off from the counter, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can check the kid’s homework.

“Yeah,” he says to Sam, “pretty special.”

He puts the paper down and uses Yev’s pencil to cross out a G that looks a little wonky, but smiles and gives him a thumbs up once he’s done. Kid’s pretty fucking smart. Yev smiles at him like he won the lottery, giving him a hug before running back to his room, homework clutched to his chest.

“ _So?_ ” Sam prompts when Mickey doesn’t elaborate. “ _Who is she? Girlfriend, fiancé…?”_ he trails off, waiting for Mickey to fill in the blank.

He takes a deep breath and then dives right in. “Boyfriend, actually.”

There’s a stunned sort of silence from the other line and Mickey could almost punch himself. It’d been going so well, too. But then, “ _Boyfriend? You? Wouldn’t have pinned you for the type,” Sam says with a laugh. “So, who is this mysterious, special boyfriend you’re rejecting me for, hmm?_ ”

Mickey glances at the clock. 7:45. Ian said he’d be back at 8:30 and they could go out, get the cat neighbor to watch Yev for a while. But he wanted to teach Yev to tie his shoes before they left. And, fuck it, he wanted to have time to do his hair and put on some nice clothes before Ian gets home. Sue him.

So, as great as that went and as much as he wants to tell Sam all about Ian, he says, “Shut up, man. I gotta go.”

Sam laughs. " _Alright, but you’re telling me about Mystery Man tomorrow. See you_.”

“Yeah, bye.”

The line goes dead and Mickey wonders when he and Sam became friends. Then he wonders when he even started having friends.

Then Yev walks out, holding his sneakers by the blue laces, and he decides that it doesn’t matter. He’ll just go with it and be happy, screw the details.

So he and Yev sit on the floor, shoes and problematic laces set out in front of them, and he teaches him that fucking bunny story.

“Like this?” the kid asks, holding up a pathetic looking bow.

Mickey snorts. “No, the bunny goes under the hill, remember? Here, gimme the shoe and I’ll show you.” He takes the sneaker from Yev and ties the laces in a bow really slowly, making sure the kid watches what he’s doing.

Yev watches intently, taking the shoe back and untying it. He looks at the laces and takes a deep breath and fuck if Mickey doesn’t have to hold back a laugh. The kid’s face is all scrunched up in concentration and his little fingers don’t seem to be coordinated enough just yet to tie a bow.

Still, he somehow manages it and hands the shoe over to Mickey with a cocky smirk on his face that looks an awful lot like an expression Mickey’s seen on Ian more than a few times.

“Nice job, buddy,” he tells him and Yev has the balls to just puff his chest up and stick his nose in the air like the little shit he is.

“Yeah. I know.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and stands up, heading to his bedroom to get ready. He stops when little arms catch him around the waist and a little head buries itself into his leg.

“Thanks, daddy.”

Mickey turns and wraps his son in a hug, pressing a kiss to his head because Ian’s made him fucking faggy like that. “Yeah. No problem.”

* * *

Ian glances at his watch. 8:10. He leans over the bar and yells over the music to Chris, “I gotta go, you good here?”

Chris barely glances up from the guy he’s flirting with, just waving Ian off. “Have fun, dude. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

And Ian snorts, because there’s nothing Chris wouldn’t do. Including Mickey, whom Ian fully plans on _doing_ at least once tonight. He takes off the little apron thing they make him wear and throws it on the counter, shouldering his way through people trying to grab his ass and waving goodbye to an oblivious Chris as he walks by. He shivers as the cold night air hits his barely protected skin, making a mental note to bring a coat when he and Mickey go out tonight.

He walks by the record store next to the bar and he walks by the café next to the record store, rolling his eyes at the hipsters mulling around on the sidewalk, gathered around some girl with a ukulele and a hat for tips. She plays well, too, but he doesn’t have time to stop and listen. He’s probably already late; he told Mickey he’d be back by 8:30 and it’s probably past that already.

The apartment, though, is only a few blocks from the bar he works at, so it doesn’t take too long to get there. He fumbles a little with the key, his fingers too cold to really move well. So, gloves, too, would be a good idea.

“Home!” he announces when he walks in, shutting the door behind him quickly so he doesn’t let the cold in.

His eyes widen when Mickey walks in from the hallway leading to their bedroom, his hair gelled back nice and wearing that purple shirt that makes Ian’s mouth water. He smiles and walks over, stopping with his hands on Ian’s chest. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Ian purrs, bending a little bit to kiss him. “How was your day?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow and pulls away from him, walking back into the hallway. Ian follows him. “Alright. Made a friend, if you’d believe it.”

Ian smiles. “Really? That’s great, Mick. Who is it?”

Mickey shrugs, leaning up against the wall. “Guy at work. Name’s Sam. He asked about you,” he adds, trying to be nonchalant.

“What’d you say?” Ian asks, only the tiniest bit nervous to hear the answer. He trusts Mickey; really.

He shrugs again, not meeting Ian’s eyes. “Not much. Made me promise to tell him more about you tomorrow, though.”

Ian smirks and saunters down the rest of the hall, stopping when he’s only inches from Mickey. He puts his hands on either side of his head. “And are you going to tell him that I’m the sexiest fucking man you’ve ever seen and that you’re gayer than a Pride Festival for me?” he asks, using the voice he had perfected while dancing at the Fairytale a few years back.

Mickey’s hands slide up to hold the back on Ian’s neck, pulling him ever so slightly closer. “Yes,” he says, “If you want me to, I will.”

And Ian knows he means it. So he leans forward and kisses him for everything that he’s worth, wrapping his arms around Mickey when it’s apparent that his knees are too weak to hold him up any longer. Mickey would deny it later, though. He’s gay but not _that_ gay.

But then he pulls away and they rest their foreheads against each other, breathing heavily. “So…you said something about spaghetti?”

Mickey chuckles and leans up one more time to capture Ian’s lips. “Go get ready. I’ll take Yev over to Mrs. Bentor’s. She said he could stay the night, too,” he adds with a wink, slipping up from under Ian’s arms and walking by. He gives him a slap to the ass as he passes, making Ian swivel around sharply, a mischievous smile on his face.

He goes back into their room, taking an embarrassingly long time picking out what to wear. He settles for a dark green button down and charcoal colored pants. He goes into the adjoining bathroom and fixes his hair and debates eyeliner or not, settling for not because he knows Mickey’s still uncomfortable with fulfilling the gay stereotype. Grabbing a black coat and his gloves on the way out, he stops in the kitchen to wait for Mickey.

Ian’s rewarded for his wait when Mickey’s eyes widen and he looks Ian up and down. “You look good, Firecrotch.”

Ian smirks. “Don’t look too bad yourself, Milkovich.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, pulling his own coat over his shoulders and opening the door. “You coming, asshat?” he asks, looking back at Ian, who just shakes his head and follows, pulling on his gloves as he does.

 

They’re quiet as they walk through the street to a little Italian place around the corner that probably violates more health codes than The Alibi back in Chicago. But it’s got good food, so fuck if they care. And Ian just lights up but has to stay quiet about it when Mickey takes his hand while they’re walking and acts like it isn’t a big deal. Like he hasn’t just made Ian’s day.

And in the restaurant, they do the thing with the spaghetti like in Lady and the Tramp, though Mickey bitches about it afterward, cheeks flaming. And they have a candle on the table. No violins, but the owner of the restaurant has this shitty radio playing Italian opera so it’s close.

And Ian knows it’s been too many years for him to even keep track (it’s been 7 years and 10 months, but who’s counting) and it’s probably impossible, but he falls a little bit more in love with Mickey Milkovich every day.

“So then I look at him and I’m just like, sorry, dude, but you were in my way,” Mickey finishes his story, laughing.

Ian laughs right along with him. “What’d he do then?”

“Just like rolled his eyes or some shit. I left him alone, though, decided the little fucker wasn’t worth getting blood on my shirt.”

Ian swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful that this boy smiling. He doesn’t think he ever will. He doesn’t say that, though, because he’s not sure what Mickey would do. So instead, he just laughs back and launches into the tale about this girl who kept hitting on him today, even after he told her he was gay.

Mickey snorts. “Bitch needed to take a hint.”

Ian laughs. “I was trying to be nice, but eventually, I just looked her right in the eye and told her I liked dick,” he says with a shrug.

“You’re too fuckin hot for your own good,” Mickey grumbles and Ian grins at him.

“You jealous, Mick?”

“Nah,” he says with a confident smile, “You love my ass too much to get rid of me.”

He’s not wrong.

“Ay,” Mickey says, pulling a bottle from his pocket and passing it over. “Take your lithium.”

And it shouldn’t make Ian so happy to know that Mickey remembered because he’s had the same medications for almost four years now and Mickey probably knows his whole schedule better than he does. But it does; it makes Ian really happy that Mickey still reminds him when it slips his mind. It makes him happy to see that Mickey cares.

As they walk back home together, Mickey burrows his way under Ian’s arm and into his chest, stealing his warmth. Ian doesn’t mind.

Mickey doesn’t even try to make an excuse when Ian raises an eyebrow at the boy walking practically on top of him. “It against the law to be close to my boyfriend?” he asks and hearing him say the word sends a little thrill through Ian.

 

They get to the apartment and Ian sits Mickey down on the couch in front of the TV, telling him to wait. He digs around in the box of pirated DVDs they have until he finds it and sticks it into the player, ignoring the groan from behind him.

“Jesus, Ian, I thought you were kidding,” he says when the theme song to Titanic starts playing.

Ian just grins devilishly and kicks his shoes off by their coats. He sits on the couch next to Mickey, leaning back against the older man’s chest. He smiles when Mickey intertwines their fingers and relaxes behind him. And he pretends, like a good boyfriend, not to notice when Mickey starts to cry and holds onto Ian’s hand a bit tighter during _the scene_.

He falls asleep on the couch with the movie credits playing in the background and Mickey’s fingers threading through his hair. And he remembers thinking, somewhat regretfully, that they never did fuck that night. Neither of them seemed  to mind too much, though.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're gay?" she asks incredulously, looking him up and down. "You don't look gay."  
> "Sorry I don't have a sweater vest and a little fucking dog," Mickey snarks, giving her the finger.  
> She shrugs. "You don't act gay, either."  
> "Jesus Christ."

 

“It’s Ian, right?” Is the first thing Mickey’s greeted with the next morning.

“Hello to you too,” he grumbles, brushing past Sam to sit at his desk.

Sam grins. “Hi, Mickey. Good morning. Lovely weather today. So, what’s your boyfriend’s name?” He prods, making Mickey rub his eyes with his hands.

“Jesus Christ, it’s not even nine o’clock yet,” he grumbles. “It’s Ian.”

Sam sits on the edge of Mickey’s desk and nudges him with his knee. “So? What’s he like?”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit around and gossip about my boyfriend with you. Get out of my cubicle before you get both of our asses fired.” He tries to hide the blush that spreads across his cheeks as he shoos Sam away.

 

Sam’s back as soon as the day hits 11:15, full to the bursting with questions he must’ve amassed throughout the morning. Mickey groans and rolls his head away when he sees the man waiting at the table Mickey’s come to think of as his own. Somewhere deep inside, though, Mickey’s happy Sam wants to know about Ian. Happy Sam accepts him as he is. And really, Mickey likes to brag on his precious Gallagher, regardless of what he says on the contrary.

He plops down beside Sam, tossing his bagged lunch (courtesy of Ian) on the table between them. “What you wanna know?” He asks, pulling out the PB&J from his bag.

Sam raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Alright. Umm, how long have you been together?”

Mickey nearly chokes on his sandwich. “I don’t fucking know, man. Since we were kids, I guess.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he gives a low whistle, beginning to unpack his own lunch. “Long time.”

Mickey shrugs. “Guess so. What about you? You with anyone?”

“Nah,” Sam says. “Not really a relationship kinda guy, y’know?”

He nods. Yeah, he fuckin’ knows. “I wasn’t either,” he says under his breath.

Sam doesn’t seem to hear or if he does, he chooses not to pry. Considering all the prying he’s been doing lately, though, Mickey would bet on it being the former. When someone sits down on the opposite side of the table and a sandwich box from the café is slammed on the table, Mickey nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Shit!” he exclaims, looking up to see that Sarah is the guilty one. “Warn a guy.”

Sarah just smirks and pops the lid on one of those cold Starbucks drinks in a jar that cost like 7 fucking dollars. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t about to murder my poor, innocent, little brother here in cold blood. Although now that I’m here, I think I might stay awhile. Jenny’s being kind of a bitch today and she’s terrified of you so she won’t come over here.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “I’m your fucking body guard now?” he asks through a mouth full of peanut butter and jelly.

She nods. “Pretty much. So what are you girls gossiping about?” she asks, looking between him and her brother.

Sam looks at Mickey with this shit-eating grin that reminds Mickey way too much of Ian’s to be anything good. “Mickey’s boyfriend,” he tells her, still grinning at Mickey.

Mickey scowls and punches him lightly in the arm with his free hand. “Yeah, just go ahead and out me to the whole goddamn office, will ya?” he mutters, though he doesn’t mind. Not really.

Sarah’s eyes widen almost comically and she looks Mickey up and down as much as she can across the table. “You’re gay?”

Mickey gives a short nod and fishes the bag of fucking celery out of his paper bag. Because Ian wanted to go healthy or some shit. There’s this really weird silence as he waits for her to respond, not meeting her eyes.

After a second or two, she narrows her eyes. “You don’t look gay.”

“Sorry I don’t have a goddamn sweater vest and one of those little dogs,” Mickey says, trying not to show the relief flooding his system.

Sarah smiles at him and he knows that whatever shit they have between them, she’s cool about this one thing. “So can I, like, take you shopping and stuff?”

He recoils, his body pressing into the back of his chair. “Fuck off,” he tells her and bites hard on a piece of celery.

She snorts. “God, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you with my stereotypes.”

Mickey just relaxes and flips her one, eyes flitting around for the boss. He stuffs the empty plastic bag of celery in and balls up the paper bag that’d held his lunch. Stretching up a little so it wouldn’t just hit Sam, he tosses it into the trash and collapses back into his chair, hearing the dull thud as it lands in the basket.

Sarah is smirking at him.

“What?”

“Your boyfriend give you that?” she asks, gesturing at the skin just below his collar, which has slipped down a bit.

Mickey slaps a hand over the side of his neck, flushing. “Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, rubbing self-consciously at the hickey. He pulls his collar up again and makes sure it’s going to stay before he moves his hand. Goddamnit, Ian.

* * *

 

 

This time, Ian’s going to say something. There’s a week left of the class and he’ll be damned if he lets Ben drool on his shoulder for the next six days of his life.

Eleanor steps out of class to answer a ‘very important phone call’, probably from her drug dealer. Or her parole officer. Whomever it is that’s calling, they make Eleanor leave the room for a while, giving Ian the perfect opportunity. It’s early enough in the class that Ben hasn’t fallen asleep yet, but he’s on his way there. Ian’s got to act fast.

“Hey,” he says, leaning over a bit. “Ben, right?”

Ben nods and gives him this big cheesy smile. “Yeah. And, uh…” he trails off, obviously not knowing Ian’s name. Which is fine.

“Ian.”

“Right, right. Sorry, man,” Ben says, at least having the decency to look mildly sheepish.

Ian just waves him off. “It’s fine. Could you, uh, stop falling asleep on me, though? You drool and it’s kind of gross,” Ian adds, thinking belatedly that maybe he hadn’t needed that part.

Ben’s eyes widen. “Oh!” he responds, looking genuinely surprised. “Yeah, no problem. Sorry about that,” he adds with a wince.

Ian shakes his head. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

His phone vibrates and he pulls it from his pocket, turning off the alarm with barely a glance at the screen. He reaches into his coat pocket to get the little bag he put his pills in this morning. He fishes one out and then turns to Ben. “Do you have, like, water or something?”

He snorts and shakes his head. “Drugs? I’ll be praying for whatever kids you get to counsel.”

Ian cracks a smile. “No, shithead, it’s medicine.”

Ben just rolls his eyes and passes over a half empty water bottle. Ian mumbles his thanks and pours some on his mouth to swallow the pill.

Eleanor walks back in right then, not even offering an apology. She turns right back to the board and continues her lesson on the human psyche during its developmental years, gesturing wildly and talking quickly in an agitated way that makes Ian think that whomever had been on the phone was not delivering good news.

Some poor girl in the front of the class raises her hand to ask a question and Eleanor spins around, practically frothing at the mouth. It must’ve been awful news that she received, because she spends the last hour ranting about the stupidity of the human race. The girl up front nearly cries.

As soon as the class is over, Ian books it out of the room. Everyone else follows on his tail, anxious to leave Eleanor to her anger.

Ben gives him this weird fist bump thing and a “later, bro”.

 Ian just shakes his head and starts his walk to Lincoln Elementary, munching on some room-temperature celery he’d had in his coat pocket. It’s pretty fucking gross but it’s better than nothing and Ian doesn’t have money to buy any street food today.

He sits on the bench outside the school as per usual and leans back, looking around to see if Katie’s anywhere. Someone taps him on the shoulder and he turns his head to see her behind him, Alex perched on her hip. She gives him a little wave and he smiles.

“You came back,” he says to Katie, making a face at Alex, who giggles.

She comes around and sits beside him, setting Alex down between them. The baby crawls into Ian’s lap and pulls his head down to play with his hair, making him laugh.

“It’s nice to think I’ve got a friend in a new city,” Katie tells him, gently pulling Alex away.

“Of course you do. Hey, we should go out to lunch or something sometime,” he offers with a little laugh, “I know this really cheap place with food that’s probably not going to give you diseases.”

Katie smiles hesitantly. “I’m not really looking for a, um. I mean – ”

Ian cuts her off, eyebrows raised. “I’m not hitting on you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, “I’m with someone. And gay,” he adds as an afterthought. Maybe he should’ve led with that.

Relief floods her features but she looks away, her cheeks flushed. “Alright. That’s good. Sorry, I’m just a little cautious at the moment,” she mumbles.

He nods. “Yeah, I get that. But, really, we should –” He’s cut off by a phone ringing and he realizes a moment later that it’s his. Pulling it from his pocket, he grins a little when he sees it’s Mickey. “Hey, Mick.” He listens for a while and then says, surprised, “You agreed we’d go out later with Sarah and her brother? I thought you hated her?”

Katie looks confused but intrigued. She tilts her head as if to ask what’s going on and Ian covers the mouthpiece of the phone. “My boyfriend. He’s not used to having friends,” he explains.

Katie nods as if this makes perfect sense. Ian moves his hand to say to Mickey, “School’s just getting out; I’ve got to go. But, uh…yeah, I’ll be there, no worries. Later, shithead. Love you.” he hangs up and drops the phone in his pocket, smiling apologetically to his new friend. “Sorry about that.”

She shrugs him off and stands up, swinging Alex into her arms as she does. “Don’t be.” She jerks her head toward the school. “You coming?”

He grins and hops to his feet, falling into step beside her as they walk the shirt distance to the pick-up area. This time, after the kindergarten classes stop and start to walk to their parents, Yev and Riley walk over together. They’re talking animatedly about something involving birds and pillows and barely glance at Katie and Ian when they get to them.

After a minute or two, Katie clears her throat. “Sorry to break this up, but Katie has guitar lessons so we’ve gotta get going,” she says, making both of the kids look up at him in surprise.

Yev recovers first, turning back to Riley. “Bye,” he says, patting her on the head like she’s a dog.

She giggles and swats at his hand. “Bye,” she replies, walking over to her mother.

Ian waves at them. “I’m serious about lunch, sometime,” he tells Katie, “Keep your schedule open.”

Katie laughs and waves at them as they walk away, Yev holding onto Ian’s hand.

"So you didn't get in trouble today," Ian says.

Yev smiles proudly. "Nope."

"Good job, bud," Ian tells him, giving him a high-five with his free hand.

"Can I go to Mrs. Bentor's again?" he asks, looking up at Ian with eyes that look so much like Mickey's it's almost creepy.

Ian thinks about it. "Yeah, I think you'll have to. Your daddy and I were gonna go out with some friends later. Why?"

"She's got these really cool trains and she lets me play with them sometimes," he explains. "Hey! Did I show you I can tie my shoes now?" he asks, stopping right in the middle of the sidewalk.

Ian bends down to pick him up. "No, you didn't! That's awesome, Yev. Did Daddy teach you?"

The kid nods excitedly. "I'll show you when I get home. I practiced a lot, too, so I'm really good now. I forget the bunny goes under the hill sometimes, though. Then it doesn't tie right, you know?"

Ian nods. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

They go down and get on the subway, Yev sitting in Ian's lap so he doesn't have to sit next to someone he doesn't know.

Ian has to hop out of the way of someone's coffee spilling as they're getting off, but he just hums lightly and keeps walking, Yev hanging onto his back like a monkey. They go straight up to Mrs. Bentor's apartment when they get to their building.

She answers the door after just one knock and ushers them both inside, sitting them down and offering orange slices and freshly brewed tea before they've even said so much as 'hello'.

Ian smiles and politely turns them down, though Yev accepts a plate of oranges.

The old woman sits down in the chair across from Ian and sips at her tea. "How are you? You're looking so thin," she tells him, brandishing her finger like a weapon.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Bentor," he says, "how are you?"

She smiles. "I'm fine, dear, thanks for asking. What was it that you wanted?" she asks, looking pointedly at Yev.

Ian grins. "I think you've guessed it. Would you watch Yev for an hour or two later tonight? Mickey and I were going to go out with some friends."

Mrs. Bentor sets down her tea and claps her hands. "Lovely. He can just stay her until you go to work as well, if you want," she offers.

Yev looks to him with pleading eyes and Ian sees him subtly pointing to an antique-looking train n the shelf beside him. "Alright. But, please make him do his homework," Ian tells her, knowing she won't make him do a thing.

She smiles. "Don't worry. My grandson is coming over later and spending the night. He's six and I'm sure he would _love_ to do his homework with Yev."

Ian stands up. "Thanks for everything, Mrs. Bentor," he says sincerely. "Have fun, Yev!"

He sends a text to Chris as he walks to his own apartment, asking if he can get off early again today.

He gets a reply almost  immediately. _You think you could dance tonight? Tyler's sick so we're down a guy._

 _Can I still leave early if I dance?_ Ian texts him, unlocking his apartment with one hand.

_Yeah, no problem._

_ok, sure,_ he answers, thinking that Mickey's gonna be pissed.

 _I can get off work early_ , Ian texts his boyfriend, _time and place?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey snatches a slice of pizza and shoves it in his mouth, the grease running down the sides of his chin. Ian wipes it off with his napkin and Mickey’s face gets even redder. “Quit being such a fucking mom, Ian,” he grumbles, subconsciously leaning back into the boy’s arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops! it's been 800000 years and im sorry

Mickey walks into the restaurant at 8:45, like Sam told him. He spots them already at a table and goes to sit down, greeting them with a nod and a little grunt.

“Where’s the boyfriend?” Sarah asks.

He scowls at her. “He’s working, said he’d be a little late.”

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Sam says, making his sister snort.

“Yeah. I’d love to meet the guy who can put up with you for long periods of time,” she says with an eye roll.

Mickey flips her off and looks around the restaurant. “They got fucking food around here or what?”

Sarah laughs incredulously. “Jesus Christ, Mickey, why do you feel the need to talk like a goddamn sailor all the time, huh?”

He just rolls his eyes. Sam laughs. “Should we wait for Ian or do you want to – ”

He’s cut off by the arrival of Ian himself, slightly out of breath and brushing glitter from his hair.

Mickey raises an eyebrow, but Ian just winks at him with eyes covered in dark eyeliner and sits in the chair next to Mickey, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. He turns to Sarah and Sam and holds out a hand for them to shake. “Hi! I’m Ian. You must be Sam and Sarah; I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sam smiles and politely shakes his hand but Sarah raises an eyebrow. “No you haven’t,” she counters, making Ian grin.

“No, I haven’t,” he admits, elbowing Mickey a bit.

She laughs. “Well, Mickey doesn’t exactly seem like the type of person to come home and tell his boyfriend about his day,” she says with a smirk.

Ian looks at Mickey with a wicked grin. “Actually –”

“Alright, shithead, that’s enough,” Mickey says loudly, cutting him off. He’s got a reputation to keep. “We getting food or what?”

Sam waves at a waitress with a smile and she walks over, pulling a notepad from her apron. “Welcome to Louis’s. My name is Alimah. What can I get for you today?”

Mickey looks at Sam and Sarah a bit helplessly, not knowing the menu. Sarah looks at Ian. “Is pizza good with you?” He nods his confirmation and she turns to the waitress. “Can we just have a cheese pizza? And some water, too.”

The girl scribbles it on her pad and then looks up, raking her eyes up Sarah’s body as she does. “That all?”

Sarah nods and Alimah saunters off. And yes, it was most definitely a saunter. “Wonder which one of us she’s swingin’ those hips for,” Sarah says with a little snort.

Ian grins. “You, probably,” he says to Sarah, making her laugh.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she says with a shrug. “Wonder when her shift’s over…”

Mickey’s face curls up in a grimace. “That’s fucking nasty, dude.”

She snorts. “Not a dude.”

Sam turns to Ian and says loudly, “So, how are you liking the city? I hear you guys just recently moved here.”

Ian raises an eyebrow at his obvious attempt to change to subject but chooses not to comment, instead saying, “Yeah, it’s really great. I’ve only met a few people from work and school and stuff, but uh,” he trails off, looking at Mickey. “Yeah, we like it here.”

Mickey snorts. “All the fucking people on the subway in the mornings, though, it’s fucking killing me,” he says with an overdramatic eye roll.

Ian laughs at him but Sarah nods in agreement. “He’s not kidding, it’s crazy busy trying to get to work.”

“Where do you work, Ian?” Sam asks.

Ian laughs a little bit. “I’m almost done with my counseling class, so I hope I’ll be at a school pretty soon. For right now, though, I work at some club on fucking hipster avenue.”

Sarah grimaces sympathetically. “Down on 63rd street, right? There’s more drugs and ugly sweaters down there than a crack den at Christmas time.”

Alimah comes back with their pizza and a pitcher of water. “Anything else I can help you with?” She asks with a little smirk, looking only at Sarah.

Sarah smiles charmingly and winks at the girl. “I’ll let you know.”

Mickey groans and buries his face in his hand. “Jesus fucking Christ, keep it in your pants,” he mumbles once the blushing waitress walks away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to damage your poor, innocent ears, Mickey Mouse,” she says sarcastically with a glance at Ian. “Quite the blushing Mary you’ve got there,” she tells him, making his ears go as red as his hair.

“Okay, leave it alone,” Sam chastises her, the effect somewhat ruined by the laugh he’s quite obviously trying to hold back.

Mickey snatches a slice of pizza and shoves it in his mouth, the grease running down the sides of his chin. Ian wipes it off with his napkin and Mickey’s face gets even redder. “Quit being such a fucking mom, Ian,” he grumbles, subconsciously leaning back into the boy’s arm.

Ian drops the napkin on the table with an eye roll and grabs a slice of pizza for himself. “What about you, then?” he asks Sam and Sarah, “Anything exciting?”

Sam laughs. “As if. I share an apartment with my twin sister and we both work at an insurance company. Not exactly the life of the party.”

“Hey, speak for yourself!” Sarah exclaims, crossing her arms indignantly. “I’m the life of every party.”

Sam bites into his pizza. “Right.”

“The other day, you invited me out for drinks with your girlfriend, right?” Mickey asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and leaning back in the booth. “That serious?”

Sam nearly chokes on his pizza. “Serious? Are you kidding? I only met her earlier this week. We pretty much hooked up once, went out once, and called it quits yesterday. I don’t do _serious_.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “He’s just still hung up on his old flame from freshman year of college. What was their name?” she asks, teasing him. “Something very deep and poetic. Ivory? Or was it Ebony?”

He elbows her. “Man, shut the fuck up. And for the record, their name was Elian.”

Ian raises an eyebrow. “Eccentric parents?”

Sam grimaces. “Eccentric moods. Changed their name from Riley to Plato to Elian. Kinda grew on me, though.”

“Play-dough?” Mickey asks, confused. “That stuff kids play with?”

Sarah snorts into her ice water. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Sam just rolls his eyes. “Plato. Like the philosopher. Greece, you know?”

Mickey doesn’t know but he nods anyway. Ian ducks his head to hide a smile and leans into Mickey, knocking their shoulders together. Mickey’s arm moves and he grabs Ian’s hand under the table, rubbing his thumb over Ian’s.

Sarah smiles at the silent interaction. Then she looks at her watch. “Jesus Christ, it’s almost ten. We gotta go, right, Sam?”

Sam nods, eyes widening. “Gosh, I hadn’t even realized. Gotta have my beauty rest, you know?”

Mickey smirks. “Yeah, whatever. Good luck with that, idiot.”

Sam pretends to look offended, bringing a hand up to his chest. “I’m hurt.”

Sarah laughs and looks around for Alimah. She catches her eye and the waitress holds up a finger, handing a coffee mug to an elderly gentleman a few tables over before walking to them.

“You want any dessert?” she asks, looking directly at Sarah.

She stutters a bit, saying, “Uh, no thanks. Just the bill. Thanks.”

Alimah pulls a receipt from her apron and walks off. Sarah digs the money from her purse and lays it on the table. “Anyone got a pen?”

Ian pulls one from his pocket and hands it over.

Sarah scribbles her number onto the receipt and tucks it under the money. “Ready to go?”

Sam smiles. “You aren’t going to say goodbye to her?”

Sarah’s face flushes a deep red. “Shut up. We’re leaving. Ian,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake, “nice meeting you. Take care of this asshole,” she adds, jerking a thumb in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey crosses his arms and sulks a bit but Ian just smiles and shakes her hand. “Nice meeting you, too. See you again sometime?”

Sam nods and then the twins are gone. Alimah gets back to the table to see only Mickey and Ian and her faces falls a bit.

Mickey nods toward the money and receipt. “Call her sometime, alright?” he says before sliding out of the booth, pulling Ian with him.

Ian laces their fingers together and flashes a smile at Alimah. “Thanks,” he tells her before his boyfriend tugs him along out of the restaurant.

Once they get onto the sidewalk, Mickey immediately pulls Ian down the first alleyway he sees and shoves him up against the wall. “The _makeup_ , fuck,” he says, ducking his head down to kiss Ian’s neck.

A shit-eating grin crosses Ian’s face. He rolls his hips forward into Mickey’s.“You like it, then?”

Mickey groans, his tongue licking a stripe up the side of Ian’s neck. “ _Fuck yes_. You dance tonight?”

“Yes. Just dancing, though,” he asserts, rolling his hips again. “Promise.”

Mickey smirks at him before leaning up to press their lips together in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, hands roaming across Ian’s chest. “Good.”

Ian breaks the kiss and laughs a little breathlessly. “Are we really about to fuck in this alley like teenagers?”

“What, you don’t want to?” Mickey asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course I fucking want to,” Ian groans, his hands already reaching between them as Mickey kisses him again.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It rings three times before he picks up. “Ian?” It’s noisy in the background and he’s talking loudly, like he’s on the subway or something.  
> “Mandy’s here,” he tells him, arranging the cookies nicely on the plate.  
> “Why the fuck is she here?” is what he says. Ian knows he’s really asking if everything’s alright.  
> “Rent or some shit.”  
> “Jesus.”  
> Ian shrugs, realizing belatedly that Mickey can’t see him. “Maybe you can talk to her. Oh, I got cookies for the party,” he adds.  
> “Thanks. Fuck, I don’t even want to go,” Mickey says. Ian can hear him groan through the phone.  
> He rolls his eyes. “Suck it up because you’re going."

“You’re shitting me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “I swear to god, Mickey, I’m not shitting you.”

Mickey groans, a hand slapping onto his face and smearing its way down. “An office party? Jesus Christ, what is this? Fucking Disney channel?” He groans again. “Am I even invited? No one fucking likes me, man. And trust me,” he adds with a little huff of breath, “the feeling is completely mutual.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re such a drama queen. Come on, lighten up. Go put on a pair of jeans and a nice shirt and just show up for an hour or two. It’s not like you have to go far; it’s just at the office.” He crosses his arms and gives Mickey a look that clearly says he needs to suck it up.

“Why is this even a work thing? It’s not like its fucking Christmas,” Mickey grumbles, lightly kicking the legs of his desk chair like a petulant child.

Sam snorts and leans against the desk. “Well, Brian is the boss’s son, and I’m not sure he has too many friends. Probably wants to have a full party for once,” he says quietly, eyes darting around to make sure Brian himself was nowhere near. “It won’t be so bad though. Hey, you should bring Ian!”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “And let all these assholes know every detail about my personal life? I’ll pass.”

“It’ll be fine,” Sam says, brushing off his comment. “I think Sarah’s bringing that chick from the diner, uh…Alimah, I think. She, uh,” he scrunches up his face. “The other day, I woke up and she was in the kitchen making coffee. Wasn’t wearing any pants, just this t-shirt that I’m pretty sure belongs to Sarah.” He closes his eyes and visibly shudders.

“I thought you heteros were supposed to like that shit,” Mickey says, a bit confused.

Sam makes a face. “I don’t exactly want to think about my sister fucking someone. Sorry, but I’ll pass.”

Mickey thinks back to the times he walked in on Mandy. With Lip, with Kenyatta, fuck, even with Karen Jackson before the bitch went all psycho. He looks at Sam. “Been there, done that. It’s fucking nasty as _fuck_ ,” he proclaims, fighting back a shudder of his own.

Sam opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but snaps it shut almost immediately. “I don’t want to know.”

“You really don’t,” Mickey agrees with a frown.

“Ok, changing the subject matter right now,” Sam says. “You should call Ian about the party. So you can’t back out at the last minute.”

Mickey narrows his eyes at him, but pulls his phone from his pocket and slides the lock. “I’m not gonna call him right here in the middle of the damn office,” he mumbles, his fingers already typing a message. He presses send and looks up at Sam. “There. Happy?”

Sam smirks and hops off the desk. “Very. See you there,” he says, walking backwards out of the cubicle.

Mickey just rolls his eyes and goes back to typing the same fucking emails he types every day. Maybe if he’s really lucky, he’ll finish early and get to do some paperwork too. Whoop-de-fucking-do. His phone vibrates on the desk and he snatches it up quickly before it can go off again.

_we’re definitely going!_ Ian’s text reads.

Mickey groans. _fuck. I was hoping you would say no,_ he replies.

Ian answers almost immediately. _no such luck :-)_

_fuck. it’s going to be awful,_ Mickey texts.

When all he receives from Ian is another stupid smiley face, Mickey thinks he’s probably alone in that opinion. Honestly, it probably won’t be too bad, but he hardly knows anyone here, never even talked to the fucking birthday boy, Brian or whatever.

He sighs and sets his eyes back on the computer, putting his phone on the desk again. He’s not even finished typing a single email before someone taps on the divider that separates his cubicle from the one in front of him. He breathes a long-suffering sigh and looks up.

It’s this dorky little dude with big, round glasses and a red band-aid on his chin. Must be new, because Mickey’s never even seen the guy in passing. He smiles widely. “Hi!”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Hi.”

The guy seems oblivious to Mickey’s prickliness. “I’m Nathan,” he says, awkwardly stretching a hand over the divider and holding it above Mickey’s computer.

Mickey looks from the guy’s hand to his face and then back again before shaking his hand. “Mickey.”

“I just started this morning,” Nathan says. He pulls his hand back and sets it on the divider, resting his chin on his fingers. “Have you been here long?”

The guy would get along great with Kev, Mickey thinks. Both always talking about whatever shit they think of. “Few months,” Mickey says.

He nods. “Cool.”

And Mickey thinks that’s the end of the conversation and he turns back to his computer. But then Nathan opens his mouth again and Mickey groans. It’s gonna be a long ass day.

 

Ian waves to Katie when she walks up, Alex with her in one of those hand-held carrier things. “Hey!”

“Hi, Ian,” she says, smiling warmly.

“Have you ever been to an office party?” he asks, awkwardly rubbing his arm.

She thinks for a moment. “Once, but it was years ago. I was barely fourteen. Why are you asking?”

He smiles sheepishly and sinks down into the bench. “I was just invited to one and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Do I dress up? Should I bring something?”

Katie sets Alex’s basket down in the bench beside Ian and sits on the other side. “Well, you should probably bring something small, baked goods or wine, I don’t know. You could ask the host what to wear,” she tells him, finger tapping her chin thoughtfully.

He grimaces. “I don’t _know_ the host. I’m going with Mickey.”

“Your boyfriend?” When Ian nods, she continues. “Ask him then, I’m sure somebody told him.”

Ian thinks for a moment. “Okay. Okay, I will. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’ve already met the only people he talks to at the office.”

Katie smiles. “Means you care.” Then she looks behind him and her eyes widen. “Oh! They’re already getting out of school. Come on,” she says, standing and picking up Alex in his basket. Ian stands and follows her to the little pavilion where the kids are already running around.

It takes a bit of time for Yev and Riley to make their way out with their respective classes, and Ian and Katie find themselves being approached by an older woman. “Excuse me,” she says with a slight Spanish accent, “I am picking up my granddaughter. Do you know where she would be?”

 “They come out with their classes,” Ian explains. “Do you know who her teacher is?” The woman shakes her head and Ian smiles. “That’s alright. They all come out here eventually. You’re welcome to wait with us until she’s here.” He holds out a hand. “My name’s Ian.”

“Cristina,” the woman says, shaking his hand. She turns to Katie and waves her fingers at Alex, who is just waking up. “Hello.”

“I’m Katie and this is Alex,” Katie says, smiling.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Dad!” Someone shouts. “Ian!”

He turns around just in time to catch Yevgeny, running at him full speed and jumping into his arms. “Whoa,” he exclaims, stumbling back a bit. “Wasn’t ready for that.”

Yev ignores his words, already struggling to get down. As soon as Ian releases him, he pulls his backpack around to the front and unzips it. A paper is yanked out and shoved in Ian’s face. “Look!”

Ian catches his wrist and slows its movement so he can read the paper. “Is this your report card? Wow! Look at all those Es!” He says, giving the kid a thumbs up. E is for Excellence in the elementary grading system. “Proud of you, buddy. You’ll have to show Daddy when he gets home later; he’ll be so proud!”

Yev smiles widely, showing off the gap between his front teeth. He takes the paper back and shows it to Katie and Cristina. “Riley got all Es!” He tells Katie. “She did better than me in spelling, but I don’t mind. She had to show her friends in her class, so that’s why she’s not here yet,” he explains to Katie.

Katie smiles. “Thank you for telling me. Good job on your grades!” she adds with a little cheering sound.

Cristina looks at Ian with a warm expression. “Your son must be very smart. What grade is he in?”

“Yev? He’s in kindergarten.”

Riley walks out of the school then, waving goodbye to someone behind her. She holds up her own report card above her head, waving it around. Alex cooed in his basket and waved his own chubby arms at her. Riley giggles and shows him the paper. “Look, Alex. You couldn’t get all Es yet, but you can when you’re my age,” she explains in a very serious tone.

While Riley is showing her mother the report card, a little girl quietly walks up and tugs on Cristina’s shirt. “Abuelita!” she whisper-yells.

Cristina smiles and strokes the girl’s hair. “Hello,” she whispers back. Then she looks up at Ian and Katie. “It was nice meeting you,” she tells them sincerely, waving goodbye at the children before walking off, the little girl still clinging to her shirt.

“We better get going, too, Yev,” Ian says. “We’ve gotta go pick up some cookies or something.”

Yev jumps into the air, punching his fist up. “Aww _yes_! Bye, Riley. See you.”

“Bye!” They wave at each other and then Yev turns and runs, not waiting for Ian.

“Bye, guys,” he says, already running after the kid.

 

“Don’t touch me with your sticky hands,” Ian tells Yev, stepping away to avoid the gooey frosting all over the poor kid. “I shouldn’t have gotten you a cinnamon bun,” he admits with a laugh.

Yev just shrugs and grabs the doorknob, ignoring Ian’s protests. He flings it open and walks inside, leaving Ian standing outside, cringing at the sugary goo all over the doorknob but with hands to full to wipe it away. With a sigh, he follows Yev into the apartment. Before he gets very far, though, a loud shriek sets his nerves alight and he runs into the living room to see Yev hugging someone tightly on the couch.

“Mandy!” He cries, delightedly surprised. He puts the plate of cookies on the table and goes over to pull her into a hug, moving Yev to the side. “Go wash your hands, Yev,” he says before focusing back on Mandy. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “Got bored. Couldn’t pay rent. The usual.”

His brows furrow. “Mandy…”

“Don’t start with me,” she says, holding a hand out to stop him. “I just need a place to crash for a while, ok? I’ll figure it out.”

He nods, but the worry lingers. He tries to push it away. “Well, you’re here now, so can you stay and watch Yev tonight? Mickey has an office thing.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Mandy says, standing up and walking over to the table. “You gonna bring these on a nice plate with foil on top so they look homemade? Pretend to be the perfect housewife?”

Ian blushes. “Shut up.”

“No, it’s cute,” she promises.

Yev runs back in with clean hands and a report card. “Look, Aunt Mandy!”

“Wow!” she says, taking the paper from him to look it over. “Did you get these all by yourself?”

Ian leaves them like that, taking the cookies with him into the kitchen. He sets them on the counter and digs around in the cabinets for a while coming up with a fancy plastic plate. It’s white with little gold swirls everywhere; god knows where they got it. A few swipes with a soapy sponge and it looks nice enough to pass as ceramic or something. He pulls his phone out and dials Mickey’s number, holding it between his ear and his shoulder while he unwraps the cookies.

It rings three times before he picks up. “ _Ian?_ ” It’s noisy in the background and he’s talking loudly, like he’s on the subway or something.

“Mandy’s here,” he tells him, arranging the cookies nicely on the plate.

“ _Why the fuck is she here?_ ” is what he says. Ian knows he’s really asking if everything’s alright.

“Rent or some shit.”

“ _Jesus_.”

Ian shrugs, realizing belatedly that Mickey can’t see him. “Maybe you can talk to her. Oh, I got cookies for the party,” he adds.

“ _Thanks. Fuck, I don’t even want to go_ ,” Mickey says. Ian can hear him groan through the phone.

He rolls his eyes. “Suck it up because you’re going. What am I supposed to wear?”

“ _I don’t fucking know, man. Sam said jeans and a nice shirt or something, so you can figure out from there_.”

Ian finishes the cookies and starts opening drawers, looking for something to cover them. “Do you know what you’re going to wear?” he asks. Mickey’s lack of response is enough of an answer. He snorts. “I’ll figure it out. Maybe I’ll even pick out matching outfits.”

“ _Yeah, yeah, whatever, asshole. I’m laughing so hard,”_ Mickey says in a completely monotonous tone.

He finds some aluminum foil and tears off a sizable piece, trying in vain to wrap the plate neatly. He settles for messy and shoves the corners under the bottom of the plate to make it stay. “Yev got his report card today,” Ian tells him, taking the phone from his shoulder and holding it to his other ear to stretch his neck. “He’s really excited to show you.”

“ _He do okay?”_ There’s a pause before Mickey huffs. “ _Course he did. Don’t know why the fuck I’m asking. We did good, you know,”_ he adds, his voice going soft.

 Ian leans on the open doorframe and looks at Yev, laughing about something or other with Mandy. “Yeah, we did.”

 

Mickey stands by the wall with his arms crossed, regretting not going with Ian to put the cookies on the table. He’s about to go and find him when a hand slaps him on the back. “Hey, you made it!”

He turns his head to see Sam grinning ear to ear. “Yeah, I made it.”

“Where’s Ian?”

Mickey shrugs, looking around. “I dunno. He’s around somewhere.”

“Come say hi to Sarah and Alimah. Sarah says she owes you or something, I didn’t catch why,” he says, already tugging Mickey across the room. Mickey looks around once more but, not seeing Ian, sighs and follows him.

He’s gay but he can damn well recognize that the girls look _hot_ in their dresses. The colors look really nice together, too, and he wonders if they planned it that way. “You clean up nice,” he says instead of asking.

“Thank you,” Alimah says politely.

Sarah just snorts. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Milkovich,” she says, looking him up and down in a manner that reminds him of Mandy for some reason.

“So I heard you’re fucking now,” he says, pointing at the two of them.

Before either can respond, the chick standing next to Sarah –Jessie? Jenny? Mickey doesn’t remember – steps forward with her arms crossed. “Yeah, and what’s it to you? That’s perfectly alright.”

Mickey just looks at her, blinking a few times. “What?”

She scoffs. “If you have anything negative to say, please just leave your opinions outside,” she tells him, the look in her eyes brokering no argument.

He’s confused for a moment, but it’s Sarah’s barely-concealed laugh that makes him realize. “Wait,” he says, holding up his hands. Sarah laughs again. “You think I was going to….” he laughs. “You’re joking, right?” Jessie/Jenny is the one who looks confused now. Mickey rolls his eyes. “I think you misunderstood something.”

Ian comes up behind him then and (Mickey couldn’t have planned this better, really) puts an arm around his waist. “Hey,” he says, looking down at him, “I was looking for you.”

Mickey bites his lip to hold in another laugh. “This is my boyfriend, Ian.”

The woman’s mouth is slightly open and her head is tilted to the side like she’s not sure she understands.

Ian looks between her and Mickey before smiling and holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She takes his hand and closes her mouth, her face slowly turning red. “Jenny. Nice to meet you, too,” she mumbles, still looking at Mickey. He snorts.

Ian doesn’t know what happened between the two of them, but he easily charms away the lingering awkwardness. Mickey watches from beside him, occasionally throwing a few words in or scowling at some comment. Mostly he just stands to the side and watches Ian smile and laugh at the things his coworkers say. Mickey thinks to himself that Ian’s beautiful like this, in his element. Not that he’d ever say that out loud. At least not with these office idiots around.

After Mickey feels like they’ve been there long enough and he’s starting to feel drained from all the fucking smiling, he hooks his arm through Ian’s and says, “We gotta get going; Yev’s waiting. Had fun,” he tells his coworkers (mainly Sam, Sarah, and Alimah). “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

He all but drags Ian out of the building once the last goodbye is made. Once they’re outside, he stops walking for a moment and takes a deep breath. Ian presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You did good, Mick. Smiled and bullshitted your way through very nicely,” he compliments.

Mickey leans into him. “Shut up, asshole,” he mumbles into Ian’s neck, making him laugh and ruffle Mickey’s hair.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says quietly. “It means a lot.”

Mickey snorts and wraps an arm around Ian’s middle. “Like I wouldn’t fucking invite you,” he grumbles.

Ian laughs, but they both know that just a few years ago, Mickey wouldn’t have invited Ian, if he had gone at all. This openness was still a pretty new development. “Come on,” he says, slinging an arm across Mickey’s shoulders. “Let’s go see Yev and Mandy.”

**Author's Note:**

> kind of short ?? but the ones coming up will be longer :)


End file.
